


Of Vikings And Time Travel

by LostFish



Category: Doctor Who, Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Time Travel, Time Travelling Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 11:48:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4918360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostFish/pseuds/LostFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from the Vikings Kink Meme : "The Doctor meets a wide-eyed young monk and invites him along as his new companion. However, Ragnar is not about to just let his priest wander of and have adventures in time and space - well, not without him, anyway. Of course, Lagertha is not about to just let... <br/>The Doctor isn't entirely sure how the TARDIS ended up colonized by vikings (and really, that Floki fellow needs to stop hitting on his ship soon, or he'll be tempted to dump the entire lot of them in 21st century Cardiff...)"</p>
<p>The Doctor had wanted to take a break in his search for the Impossible Girl. Instead, he found himself tumbling through the universe in a Viking infested TARDIS. How did this happen ?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Vikings And Time Travel

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to whoever wrote that prompt in the Vikings Kink Meme, you have inspired me ! I hope you find this and like it (it was your idea after all, and I believe in giving credit where credit is due) ! :)
> 
> Fair warning that English is not my first language, and that there may be some mistakes a born English speaker would not make (unless they're exhausted). 
> 
> I will try to update this as regularly as possible which, knowing me, will be hard. 
> 
> Enjoy ! :)

“Oh, hello !”

Athelstan's heart jumped in his chest, and he quickly looked up from the clothes he had been washing in the lake. A gangly man was making his way down the river bank, his long arms swishing through the air as he waved. 

Athelstan climbed to feet, weary. He didn't recognise the man and he had made a point to remember the faces of the men and women working on the farm, to avoid any unnecessary show of disrespect. He knew that some families lived higher in the forest and down the river, but it seemed unlikely that the stranger came from one of them : his clothing was unlike anything the young slave had ever seen, far too thin for the harsh winter wind that had started blowing earlier this week. Athelstan himself, used to the cold winter nights of the monastery, had been unprepared for the slowly creeping frost that seemed to seep into his very bones. Nature was harsher here, and Athelstan had been ever so grateful to be given some of Ragnar's old clothes, a thick shirt and a thicker wool cloak. But the man seemed unperturbed by the cold weather, and skipped over the rocks toward him, hair flopping in his smiling face. A traveller from the East, maybe ? Gyda had told him of her father's stories, of an ever snowing land filled with fur-covered men and, farther East again, of men with great round hats and a dragon god. 

The man sauntered to Athelstan and held out his hand, an expectant smile on his face. Wearily, Athelstan put his hand in the man's, who enthusiastically shook it. 

“It's so nice to meet you”, babbled the stranger. “I've been walking for miles, looking for signs of life ! The old girl took me a bit earlier than I meant to go, I was really aiming for Nineteenth Century Spain, you know. Although England is far more interesting during that time, with the industrialisation and all, but I have to be cautious, you see, Queen Victoria is on the throne then, and she did banish me last time I saw her. First time, really, we had just met, saved her from a werewolf, well not really a werewolf, more of the space equivalent really. You would think she would be grateful, wouldn't you, to be saved from that kind of creature, but no ! No, she banished me even though I had saved her, I think, apart from that scratch, but a scratch is a scratch, what harm can it do, right ? Anyway, this time I was going to Spain, say hello to Alfonso XII, pop in during la Gloriosa, that kind of things ! But judging by the lack of any major human impact on nature around us, your clothing style and your baffled look, I would say I'm off by – oh, a millennium give or take a few !”

The man stopped to take in a huge breath, and released Athelstan's hand, that he had never stopped shaking. A large smile spread over his face as he watched the young slave with expectant eyes. Athelstan, spooked, had grouched back and was haphazardly throwing the soaked clothes in a basket, determined to get away from this man who talked of his homeland, an unknown queen and centuries yet to pass. As the slave got back to his feet, the basket under one arm, the man smiled again.

“I'm the Doctor, by the way ! And who are you ?”

Athelstan paused where he had been ready to launch himself down the path to the farm, and studied the man hesitantly, curiosity warring in his mind with caution. This strange … Doctor seemed as young as he was, but as Athelstan looked, the slop of the man's shoulders seemed to be more due to sadness and loneliness than to indolence, and his eyes seemed impossibly, unimaginably old. Athelstan repressed a shudder. 

Some days, when the weather was clear and the wind gentle, Ragnar – sometimes with Bjorn in tow - would come fetch him from the field where he was working and take him with him to visit Floki, the carpenter. The man lived alone further down the river, at the edge of the woods where trees met water, in a small wooden house. Floki was the strangest man Athelstan had ever met, as tall as a small tree and as gleeful as a small child, eyes blackened with paste, and an endless well of stories about his precious trees, his and Ragnar's childhood adventures, and of the gods. As he looked in the old, old eyes of the man before him, Athelstan thought of the gods in Floki's stories, of quests of knowledge and treacheries, of a well full of wisdom and a man who saw all, and thought that Floki would surely, by now, be sure to be in the presence of one such god. And even if these gods were not his, even if he believed in different stories, Athelstan was wise enough to know not to disregard others' beliefs, for there is truth in every story. 

“My name is Athelstan”, he said. And, because the man had done him no wrong and that, god or not, it seemed like the polite thing to do, he added : “Are you lost ?” 

The man's face scrunched. 

“Bit of a mouthful, that : Athelstan. Athel-stan. Athelstan.” A sudden smile lit up his face. “I like it ! Athelstan ! Nice to meet you, Athelstan!” 

Dazed, the young man could only smile blandly as the … Doctor took his hand back in his and shook it again. 

“I'm not lost, not really”, said the Doctor once he had released his hand. “The old girl always takes me where I need to be, even if I don't know where that is. Where am I, though ? Cold air like that, this flora and ooooh ! These clothes ...” The man had peered into the basket and was ruffling though it, delighted. “That's a truly beautiful pattern !”, he said, holding out one of Bjorn's shirts. Athelstan smiled, recognising one of Gyda's latest tries at sewing, and remembering her proud little face when her brother had grudgingly agreed to wear it. Of course, she had not seen the warning glance Lagertha had given her son when he had started to refuse. 

“Well, I would say I'm somewhere in Scandinavia, probably Denmark, or what will become Denmark”, babbled the Doctor, wriggling his hand. 

His eyes then fell on Athelstan's neck and his body stiffened. 

“What's that ?”, he asked in a deceptively calm voice, eyes growing dark. 

Athelstan's free hand flew to his neck and over the bruised skin, which was almost completely healed. 

These days, when he happened to catch his reflection in the lake or in a bucket, he almost did not recognised himself as the young terrified monk Ragnar had dragged up the hills to his farm, that day which seemed like so long ago, now. He had been petrified by fear, hunger and cold after the long days of huddling on the boat, soaked to his bones by the sea breeze, and the rope around his neck had chaffed and burned his skin like a constant reminder of his new station. But Lagertha and Ragnar were kind people, in their own way, and their children were as children are everywhere, curious and bright and full of questions. Floki had helped, sometimes taking advantage on one of their visits to sit Athelstan down by the hearth and questioning him about his god, his Bible and his Heaven, offering tales of his own in return. And little by little, Athelstan had grown used to his new life, of hard days of work in the fields, of fishing in the lake with Ragnar, of helping Lagertha prepare meals even though she clearly didn't need him, of Gyda's unending curiosity and Bjorn's reluctant affection, of Floki's quirks and Rollo's gruffness, of Arne's silences and Torstein's boisterous laughter, and of falling asleep every night in his fur-covered pallet, exhausted. Ragnar had taken the rope off some time ago, when he decided that he trusted him enough to let him look after his children and his home, but the irritated skin had taken it's time healing and was still red and puffy.

The Doctor's eyes had grown dark and cold at his silence, and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. 

“Who did this to you ?”, he asked again. 

Athelstan sighed and rubbed his forehead, weary. This man had no right to look so angered, but Athelstan was a slave, and if he did not answer, this Doctor would take it up to Ragnar, who would … probably find it quite funny, actually. But Lagertha certainly wouldn't, and Athelstan would not give a bad impression of his family if he could help it. 

“My master did, but it is healing now”, sighed Athelstan, pushing the basket higher under his arm. The man scowled. 

“Your master ?”, he asked again, voice tight.

Athelstan paused, perplexed by the man reaction. Any man would have accepted his answer and thought nothing more of it, but this Doctor seemed even more angry than before.

“I am a slave”, said Athelstan slowly, thinking that perhaps the man came from a place where people spoke a different tongue, even if the Doctor seemed to have had no trouble expressing himself before. The Doctor looked him in the eyes, seemingly startled by the plain way Athelstan had stated his situation. Then, suddenly, he smiled and reached out to grab the basket, taking it from Athelstan.  
“I'll take that”, he said when Athelstan tried to take it back. “Why don't you show me where you live, I want to have a word with your master”, he added in a deceptively joyful voice.

Athelstan felt himself go white at the man's words. It was clear that the Doctor thought Ragnar was somehow mistreating him and that, although it was untrue and such behaviour was highly inappropriate, he was going to argue with Ragnar over the way he should treat his own slave. 

As he ran after the Doctor, who had started in the wrong direction, Athelstan found himself wishing there was some way he could explain to this strange man that Ragnar had not meant to harm him. But what was he supposed to say ? That Ragnar had had to tie him up, so that he wouldn't escape ? That he had somehow forgiven the man who had taken him from everything he knew, and even grow to love him, his family, and this open and cold land ? Even to him, it did not make much sense. Sending a quick prayer to God to help him, Athelstan lead the way to the farm and fervently hoped that Ragnar would not take offence of anything the Doctor might accuse him off.


End file.
